With Stan as a Little Brother
by Madam RedRose25
Summary: Shelley Marsh reflects on her life having Stan as a brother. What are the real reasons behind her anger and how does their relationship change?


A/N: Just a look at what Shelley Marsh's thoughts could have been in the past and future. I really do like Shelley even though she kicks the crap out of Stan all the time. I feel there could be a lot about her we don't yet know. It might seem dramatic but it's just the way I write, sorry. Enjoy.

**WITH STAN AS A LITTLE BROTHER**

I guess you could say the fights between my little brother and I began the day our parents brought him home from the hospital. Yes, you could say that, but in truth, tension began even before then. When he was still in our mother's womb. This sounds ridiculous, but I swear the day I found out Mom was pregnant again had to have been one of the biggest blows to my face. Scratch that, the day I found out she was carrying a boy was the biggest blow to my face. See, like many families out there, there is always a part inside the parents that hope and pray for a boy. I'm not too sure what it is but I knew Mom and Dad wanted a boy for as long as I can remember. They never told me but it was evident.

I guess the real first memory of these feelings came in the middle of May 2001. I was almost four and I already knew she was pregnant. Mom had come into my room with a beam on her face. She lifted me up and hugged me.

"Guess what Shelley? I just found out wonderful news at the doctor's! Do you want to hear?"

"Okay," I told her as I clutched onto a favorite doll of mine.

"You're going to have a little brother!"

I can still feel my face falling to this day. "A brother?"

Mom smiled and kissed me. "A little brother, won't that be wonderful?"

I don't know what she meant by that.

"You will have a little brother to play with. Oh just think, when you get to preschool, you can go around and tell all your classmates you have a little brother! You can tell them and your teacher how you help Mommy and Daddy take care of him and everything. Won't that be fun?" Mom said with a bright smile.

I was unsure about this. Again, I knew she wanted a boy so as anyone who went from an only child to a sibling would know- I was worried.

"Are you sure it's a boy?" I asked her.

She nodded. "Do you want to say hello to him?" she placed my hand on her growing stomach.

I never said hi. I was afraid to. So I allowed her to walk out my room while I sat and thought long and hard about what had just happened. I knew when Dad came home she wouldn't hesitate to tell him. He'd be overjoyed too. With this thought I angrily kicked at my dolls and threw them across my room and cried on my bed. Predictably, Mom and Dad spent the next several months telling me they loved me and I would always be their little girl. They wouldn't treat my new sibling and I any differently. I was only four, I had to believe them.

October 19th 2001 my little brother Stanley Quintin Marsh was born. Three days later he was brought home from the hospital and from then on I had to learn how to compete for our parents' affection. And compete I did. For his first year of life I did all I could to gain the attention of Mom and Dad. Sometimes it worked. Other times, no. He was a very fussy baby so Mom was tired often. There were many nights I would be waiting in bed for a story only to find out Mom had fallen asleep in my little brother's room getting him to fall asleep too. She had even fallen asleep on the stairs and in the garage a couple times.

Things never did get easier. Stan was a little pest from the very beginning. He did all he could to gain our parents' attention. Now I'm too old to care but a huge part of me felt he was doing it on purpose. But he was a toddler; did he really know what he was doing? When he was two things began to get just plain annoying. He fell sick often, he was always coughing, especially into the night. No one, I repeat no one wants to hear coughing when they're trying to sleep, whether it's a school night or not. Again, my then six and seven-year-old self thought he was doing it on purpose. Wait until we had to fall asleep to begin his coughing fits so Mom and Dad could worry. And whenever he came back from the doctor without a proper diagnosis I grew even angrier.

"I swear you better stop it you little brat before you really have something to cough about," I had warned him when he was three.

"I'm not faking Shelley!" Stan said with wide eyes. Another thing, I could make him squirm from the very beginning. It did make me feel slightly happier.

But that's when things became even more annoying. One night when he was four his coughing grew so bad that Mom and Dad finally had had it and in the middle of the night our parents rushed him into the ER. I did not appreciate this- school was tomorrow and the last thing I wanted was to try and sleep in a hospital for the night. Our parents finally got the answer they were waiting for- Stan had been diagnosed with asthma. Oohh, how this angered me.

"You already get all of Mom and Dad's attention, why'd you have to catch this?" I told him, holding him up by his shirt days after he was brought back home.

"I- I dinnit mean to Shelley!" Stan stuttered to say.

"You already have Mom and Dad pay all their attention to you!"

"That's- that's not true," he gulped. "They still love you t-too."

Another thing- Stan had been trying to deny anything Mom and Dad ever said or did about us. He had been giving me 'we're all a big happy family' speeches and 'you're my sister and I love you' crap ever since I can remember. Of course he'd deny everything, he wasn't old enough to really know how I took it in. I may be sounding overdramatic. Mom and Dad did- and still do-love me. And I know it. But ever since Stan came around, a lot more attention has been put unto him.

Maybe it's not their fault, my brother is an idiot. The countless times he had gotten in trouble… sure he was the little boy they had always wanted but that didn't stop Mom and Dad from grounding him. Whenever Stan was in trouble, I reveled in the moment. Having a boy isn't as fun and easy as they thought it would be. I could be a rich author by now if I cared to write a book on all the things he had gotten himself into, especially around his idiot friends.

When Stan and his best friend Kyle were only five Mom caught them throwing rocks at passing cars. Sure this isn't much now, but after that one that left a big scratch on a window- Stan really got it. He had been grounded for two weeks. I guess this was the first time I really felt bad for him, which still to this day doesn't happen often. He had cried for hours after he was grounded and pitched a fit for those two weeks that he couldn't have dessert every night or watch his favorite cartoons. But he didn't learn his lesson. A month later, he and Kyle were at it again, this time I was outside with them since I had to look after them. They had hit the back of the head of a man walking into a car across the street. Stan was scared out of his wits Mom would find out again. This had to have been one of the first times I stuck up for him.

"I heard you boys were throwing rocks across the street again," Mom had told Stan and Kyle.

I hung back in the kitchen, enjoying seeing Stan shake with fear. But then something inside me made the smirk from my face slip. Regretfully, I had walked up to our mom and lied.

"It was me," I had told her.

Mom, Stan and Kyle looked my way.

"What?"

"It was me Mom," I said, looking at my feet. "I was really bored, having to look after Stan and Kyle. I decided it might be fun to throw rocks."

"Shelley, how could you? Your brother might have done it again if he saw you. What kind of example is that for him?" Mom scolded.

I just shrugged. For some reason I didn't want to see Stan go without dessert or cartoons for another two weeks or more if he was only five.

"Well I am very upset with you young lady. You wait until I tell your father," Mom frowned before apologizing to the boys and walking out.

Kyle had taken a hesitant step towards me. "Why'd you do that Shelley?"

Stan did too. "Mommy was going to punish me again."

"I didn't want her to," I rolled my eyes.

"Why?" damn his big blue eyes.

"Because you were already punished for the same reason _turd_!" I yelled and pushed him to the floor.

I helped his ass out here and there since then. Once when I was twelve and he was eight a giant clone of himself destroyed parts of the town. He was so afraid Mom and Dad would send him away that he broke down. How I hate that too about him, he could turn on the waterworks on queue. Those stupid friends of his had taken advantage of that since they were three. The only reason why I help him at times in the first place, just to get him to shut up. Another time he turned on the tears was a year later and he and his friends were in trouble after a boy from preschool was being released from juvie. Again my stupid protective older sibling mode kicked in and I agreed to save his and his friends' ass.

I wonder if all older siblings have this built in instinct to take the rap for things they didn't even do. They must for my brother is the most annoying of them all, and if I can bust _his_ ass out of trouble, anyone can. Don't get me wrong, as much as I seem to resent him, enjoy seeing him suffer, pick on him just because he's there, I still do love him. There, I said it. I can't lie about it. I love my stupid, annoying, pussy little brother. I put up with all of his annoying habits over the years as well as his annoying friends.

See, my brother has a habit of getting himself into all sorts of trouble. From the simple things like cursing in front of our parents to the dramatic- being arrested by the government a good few times. And I have worried about him during said times.

When he was nine, an infestation of giant guinea pigs took over the world. It was a very frightening experience, everyone was running around like mad trying to find safety; people were being killed and injured left and right. On top of this, Stan was missing. Nobody knew where he had gone and with something so drastic taking place in town, I was worried about him. How were we to know if he was alive or not? Where he was? If he was killed by the guinea pigs? Turns out he was with his friends in Peru and was part of the solution to get rid of the monsters. Another time that really frightened me was again when he was nine and an outbreak of pee took over the water park. Many were killed and those who weren't had to be quarantined inside the park until help came. Again, how was I to know if he was one of the ones killed or quarantined? When Mom got off the phone with Dad after he informed her, she sat on the couch and cried. As much as I hate Stan- and you should know this by now, I felt for her. I was worried about him too. Thankfully he was fine in the end, and the joy on Mom's face when she ran and hugged him _did_ make me smile.

Stan has a horrible habit of disappearing without a trace, usually with his friends- Kyle, Cartman and Kenny that is. He claims all of these situations were 'accidents.' I still sometimes think he tries to find trouble just so Mom and Dad can worry over him again. I know it's immature, and something I shouldn't think about. Crazy things happen in South Park all the time. But why do ninety percent of those things include Stan?

Like I was saying, I do love him, deep down. He can't ruin any holiday; every Christmas is exciting, nothing but peace (for the most part if our dad isn't being stupid). To this day Stan and I can't wait to open presents, the looks on our faces, the looks on our parents', it's like we are five and nine all over again. The one day when I don't try and make Stan squirm.

I do love him. I do worry about him. He's had his share of a few good asthma attacks since he was diagnosed- the worst when he was nine and his right lung actually collapsed. All right, so I pretended to not care when Mom first told me, but when I was alone, I worried about him. Sure I only paid a hasty visit to him in the hospital because Mom made me- but deep inside I was relieved he would make it.

The longest time I went being 'kind' to him was when he was ten. That fat ass friend of his, if you can call him that, Cartman made him fall out a tree causing him to break his leg. When I got wind I would have to help Stan out doing simple everyday things like going up and down the stairs- I had a shouting match with our parents. But those six weeks of helping him out made me look at him in a different way. I _did_ feel bad for him. It was a pretty bad break, and walking around town on the wet, snowy and icy streets with crutches is not easy. I didn't want him to suffer without help, but I made sure he didn't get used to it. I guess you can say it's something all us older siblings feel- no one can make your little brother or sister suffer but you. So I felt obligated to help and even tried to convince him to stop hanging around Eric Cartman. Who shakes a tree branch for fun when someone is on it, twelve feet from the ground? Did Stan listen? That fat bastard was at the house last night and broke his bedroom window- I think that gives you the answer.

"He doesn't mean what he does," Stan had told me as I helped him into his room one night.

"Don't make me laugh," I told him.

"Usually," Stan added.

"He knew you and Kyle were on the branch and he still shook it! That boy has a twisted sense of humor, turd."

"So do you," Stan glared at me.

"I'm older than you by four years, picking on you only come natural," I flicked him on his ear- he hates that.

"Stop! You're supposed to be helping me!"

"I got you to your room turd; you can do everything else yourself."

"You have to help or I'm telling Mom," Stan glared.

"I'm so scared," I rolled my eyes.

I grabbed his crutches out of reach before he could whack me with them- he had been doing that to Cartman since he broke his leg.

"Damnit Shelley!"

I was at his door now; still holding his crutches, watching him struggle to get off his bed without falling, then after he did fall, limp over to his desk to get a heavy book he needed for homework. I chuckled.

"You are such a _bitch_!" he cried.

But I intervened after he tried to lift his heavy encyclopedia but toppled to his side and landed on his bad leg. I helped him into his desk and got out all his things he needed for homework. I even grabbed a Pepsi for him to drink and his favorite snack cake.

"Why do you have to be so damn difficult?" Stan told me, glaring as he cracked open his soda.

"The polite thing to do is thank me turd. Mom did tell me you had to thank me if I helped you."

Stan had gritted his teeth in anger before ignoring me completely. It is fun to be two-sided to him at times, it really aggravates him.

What really got me through living with Stan was my relationship with Amir. I met him online one day when I was thirteen and our love had grown stronger since then. I know what you're thinking, there's no way someone can have that deep of an impact on you if you've never met. Let me tell you this- we did meet finally after the internet went down in Colorado. My family was at an internet refugee camp and of all people who was there, it was Amir. We didn't say much, how awkward is it to meet someone face-to-face the first time? But we promised to keep in touch. And we still do. We are in love years later. I found the perfect person who understands me and respects me. For someone like me, who never thought of herself as pretty, it means a lot.

Speaking of pretty, the day I have been waiting for finally came when I could at least try and look nice. Everyone was excited. When I was fourteen, my horribly ugly headgear finally came off. You have no idea how happy I was when this occurred. I was even nice to Stan for a full week before he 'accidentally' got gum in my hair. It was nice, not having metal protruding from my mouth. Everyone noticed how much I smiled. For a short while I felt like a new person, like I had been taking all my anger out in a negative manner. That I wouldn't do it anymore. But my brother had to prove to me how wrong I was.

"See? All this anger you had in you- it wasn't because of me, it was because of your headgear," Stan had told me one day, a bright smile on his face.

I turned my head from the TV to look at him.

"I knew it; I knew you didn't _really_ hate me. You've been nicer to me ever since you got it off, except for hitting me when my gum popped out of my mouth into your hair," Stan trailed.

"What?"

"Well, you haven't beaten me to a pulp since then. I knew the only reason you were doing it was because of your headgear."

Why was he still smiling?

"So, I think it's time that, well, you know…" Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

"I do what?" I growled.

"You know, a-apologize," he said the last word quietly.

My knuckles flexed. "_Apologize_? You want me to apologize? To you?"

"Well, yeah."

"What makes you think I will?"

"I told you why," Stan said.

"You want me to apologize for doing something I do because I'm older than you? Because I can? For something I've been doing ever since you were a baby?"

Stan took a hesitant scoot away from me. I grabbed his shirt and brought him to my face.

"No Stan, no way in _hell_ am I going to do that. You're my own personal punching bag and you always will be," I said roughly.

"But"-

"You're the youngest in the family. It's my duty to kick the crap out of you turd."

"But that's"-

I punched him square in the face before throwing him off the sofa. I kicked him a couple times too.

"Don't you ever _ever_ think I'm going to be nice to you _Stan_. You're my little brother and I will always be able to kick your ass," I said darkly before leaving him there on the floor.

It is true. He's a preteen now and I can still make him squirm. He thinks he can change me, after all these years…just because he can make others change their mind. He's still shorter than me so I still have the upper hand. I'm still stronger too. He's such an idiot.

Like I was saying, getting my headgear off was one of the happiest moments of my life. And if Stan really thought I would be kind and caring to him now, especially since he poked fun at my appearance when he got braver when he was ten… I warned him before if he dared to continue poking fun, when he got headgear or braces, I would make sure it was twice as bad. He laughed and said that would never happen and continued to poke fun. Again- idiot. Mom and Dad both had braces, it runs in the family. Oh the joy I felt the day I found he _did_ need braces… well, he was back to his pussy nine-year-old self again I'll tell you that much. I lied though. I didn't make him suffer for it twice as much as I told him I would. Which royally sucks because of anything, anything at all, the thought of my brother with braces was, and still is, all too great to ignore. Stan deserves it… but I'll tell you why I didn't pick on him about it (as much).

I'm going to back-track now. It was any normal night I guess you could say. Just another cold night in September. I was thirteen, Stan was nine. It was a Thursday night and everyone was doing their Thursday night ritual. My dad's included staying up and watching television with his fifth beer of the day; my mom's was to read a story with Stan for his Thursday night. She has been reading to him since he was a baby and only stopped doing so before he turned eleven. With the occasional incident here and there, they read a book together each Tuesday and Thursday night; it was a fun way for him to practice his reading skills. I of course liked to rip on Stan for it- he was nine and still enjoyed bedtime stories. Mom still read him picture books every week. But these Tuesday and Thursday nights were special because it was their special 'boding' time.

But here's the thing, Mom had already promised me after school she would help me with my math homework. She told me specifically she would help no matter how long it took since she knew I was having trouble. But I suppose she had an eventful day at work or something because before I knew it, Mom was on her way into Stan's bedroom before nine o'clock that night.

"Mom?" I walked out of my room.

"Yes dear?"

"What are you doing?"

She looked a little surprised at the question. "I'm going to tuck your brother into bed."

"Are you going to read together?"

She smiled. "Of course, it's Thursday silly."

"But Mom, you still have to help me with my homework."

"Don't worry Shelley, it won't be long."

"But you told me you'd help as soon as everything was done and everyone was winding down for the night."

"Well I wasn't expecting to break your father out of the scuffle he was having with Mr. Morrison across the street," Mom told me.

"But, I need help." I held out my math book.

"Don't worry Shelley; I'm going to help you. But I need to read with Stan right now, it's already 9:00."

"I know it is. I have to go to school tomorrow too and I need this done!"

"Shelley," Mom sighed.

"You told me you'd help! I don't know how long it will take me to complete it and it's due tomorrow," I told her.

She caressed my face. "I will help. I have two kids and I need to spend time with each accordingly. But I have to keep on schedule, I read with Stan at 8:45 every Thursday," she explained.

"Mom…"

"Don't worry dear, your brother looked a little sleepy during dinner. I'm sure I won't be long. Now you just sit tight and I'll be with you soon," she told me with that smile of hers I sometimes hate.

So angrily, I watched my mom step into Stan's room and I was left in my own. Twenty minutes past. I decided to see what the holdup was. Mom was sitting in Stan's bed reading a Magical Tree House book with him, his favorite series.

"Mom," I said annoyed.

She turned to look at me. "Yes?"

"I thought you said it wouldn't take long."

"One more chapter and we'll be done Shelley. Don't worry."

"It's past 9:30! I need to do my homework and go to bed!"

"Go ask your father to help you," Mom suggested.

"Dad sucks at helping homework. Everyone knows you're the brains in the family."

"She's got a point there Mom," Stan had said.

"I'm almost done, just sit tight Shelley."

I could have thrown Stan across the room then. That selfish little brat didn't tell Mom she didn't need to finish the last chapter of his gay book with him. They just went back to the book like I didn't even interrupt! It was after ten when Mom finally decided to show up.

"Sorry I took so long dear, Stan had to tell me he and Kyle made slight changes to their plans on Saturday," I remember her telling me.

But at that moment I could care less. I was at my desk crying. I couldn't help it, it was one time too many. Mom had pushed too far.

"Shelley? Shelley, are you okay?" Mom touched my arm.

I didn't answer.

"Shelley? What is it?"

I sniffed, choking on my tears. "You- you and S-Stan"- I gulped.

"What?"

"You pr-promised you'd help m-me."

"And I'm here," Mom had said.

I allowed more tears to fall. "You don't get it. You promised me earlier today- you'd h-help. You said it would be the f-first thing you'd do after di-dinner."

"And I told you, your father decided to get into a shouting match with Mr. Morrison over football again," Mom said heavily.

"But after"-

"After and it was time for bed. It was already nine and I had to read with your little brother."

How did she _not_ get it? I finally decided to get up and tell her what I thought. "You care more about Stan than me!"

I remember her shocked face now.

"What?"

"You decided it was more important to read a stupid book with Stan rather than help me with homework. _That_ is more important!"

"It is not Shelley," Mom sounded upset that I thought it.

"Then why did you do it? You were supposed to be help-helping _me_."

"I was on a schedule."

"If I get in trouble with Mrs. Roland for not doing my homework tomorrow, it'll be _your_ fault," I pointed at her.

"Shelley," Mom said sternly.

"It will and you know it Mom."

"It was past 8:45; your brother was expecting his time with me as always. We both know this, it's been this way for years now and you've never had a problem," Mom said.

I glared. "You aren't getting it Mom. It's not about a schedule or about Stan expecting you to show up. It's about doing something with him, again, that is less important than something with me which is more important. He wouldn't get in trouble by his teacher tomorrow if he didn't read Magical Tree House, but I _will_. I'm the one who will be in trouble. It's proof you love him more than me."

I went back at my desk and cried again. Mom didn't say anything for several minutes. She just touched my arm. But suddenly I heard a sniffle. I looked up to see tears in her eyes and before I knew it, she wrapped her arms around me.

"Oh Shelley, you're right, you're completely right."

"I am?"

She sniffed. "Oh, how could I have been so blind? So stupid? What was I thinking? You are completely one hundred percent right. Oh Shelley, oh sweetie…"

"What's going on?" I heard Dad's voice as he walked in.

Mom looked up to him.

"Randy, Randy I've been a horrible mother. We've been horrible parents."

Dad frowned. "C'mon Sharon, I didn't start that fight with Mr. Morrison, he decided to come over and"-

"It's not that," she snapped.

"What? Because I didn't mean for the kids to see. Shelley, you know I didn't mean it," Dad apologized.

"She's not talking about that. Shelley just told me… oh, oh I feel horrible." Mom sniffed.

"What?"

"She told me how we've been spending all our time with Stanley. How- how she feels we love him more."

Dad's eyes widened. "You- you think we love your little brother more than you Shelley?"

"For the past nine years, it sure seems that way," I spat.

"Oh no, oh no no no…" suddenly Dad dropped what he was holding (the TV remote) and hugged Mom and cried with her. I was a bit surprised at this; I wasn't expecting this to happen tonight at all.

"Oh Shelley, Shelley dear, we didn't mean- you think- oooh! I'm a horrible father!" Dad wailed.

I sighed and touched his arm. "You're not horrible Dad."

"It's true! I know why you think it! Oh, we have been paying far too much attention to Stan haven't we?" Dad continued to cry.

Again, my sibling actions kicked in. I sighed and rolled my eyes. "It's not your guys' fault. Stan…well, pretty much everything he gets himself into isn't his fault either."

"What?" Mom dabbed at her eye.

"Stan doesn't mean to get into the things he does. He just has a horrible knack of attracting trouble."

"But Shelley"-

"It's true Mom. He's just a really curious person, and hanging around Kyle, Cartman and Kenny all the time… ever since they met, things haven't been calm around here at all."

"But before"-

"Before too Mom. Before wasn't really his fault he had added attention. For example, his asthma. It's not his fault he has it. So I can't put the blame on him for all his attacks and getting sick all the time when he was little."

"But Shelley, we have been putting added attention because of this. Besides, Stan's asthma isn't that bad," Dad tried to tell me.

I looked at my knees. "We don't know that. He hates having it; he's an idiot when it comes to it. He'll do anything to avoid the topic. He's irresponsible when it comes to it."

"But Shelley…"

"He is Dad and you know it! He pretends he doesn't even have it!" I sighed then. "I'm just trying to say it's no one's fault you had to give him added attention. He's an idiot, gets in trouble, even before he was friends with Kyle and everyone. He's too curious for his own good, causing the government to get involved half the time. He's younger than me by four years. He needs the added attention… I guess you can say, I've had a lot of sibling jealousy about him. But it's not fair since he's younger…"

Mom sighed and wrapped an arm around me. "He's not three anymore. He doesn't need the added attention."

"Yes he does," I mumbled.

"He doesn't. And I think we've forgotten that haven't we Randy?"

"You're right; Shelley, we've been too caught up with Stan to notice you. We may not treat him like a little kid but we still give him added attention. He's nine now, nine. Not three." Dad sat down on my other side.

Mom sighed. "Tell you what Shelley, from this day on, I promise you we will give you both equal attention."

"But he's still"-

"Of course your bother will always get in trouble more than you. Of course he will continue to have breathing problems. But outside that, we will not treat you two differently, understand?" Mom had told me.

"Mom…" I was having a hard time believing. How could I believe her?

"It's true dear, very true," Dad added.

"How can I believe you? After so many years?"

At that moment Stan had stepped into the room. "What the hell is going on here?"

Mom, Dad and I all shared a look.

"We've just been talking," Mom told him.

"Well keep it down, I need to sleep. And the light is bothering me; I can see it through my door crack."

Dad had got up and kissed me. "I love you Shelley," and left.

Mom had a smile on her face and got up too. "I have to help your sister on her math homework Stanley. You get back to bed."

"It's like- close to eleven and you have work," Stan noted.

"I don't think I'm going to work tomorrow," Mom smiled. "Now get back to bed."

"But her stupid light is on and I can't sleep with lights on," Stan whined. Yes, he did whine.

Mom just kissed him and scooted him out. "Go back to bed and try your best then. I love you."

"But"-

Mom just waved at him before shutting my door. This made me very happy indeed. We worked on my math long into the night and I didn't care if I had to wake up in a few hours. It had been both the best and worst night in a while. Since then, Mom and Dad had kept their promise. Of course it didn't seem too different because Stan was still a walking disaster and still finding new ways of getting in trouble and having our parents worry about him. I mean how do you really attract the government to you when you are just riding your bikes and skateboards in the park? To this day Stan hasn't told Mom or Dad just what he was doing in New York for two weeks, but he did come back as white as a sheet.

Since that night, I have been nicer to Stan, or I tried to at least. I didn't want to beat him up for things out of his control. But that didn't stop me all the time. I'm sure any of you who have a little brother or sister know you have to terrorize them _some_times. But because of that night I thought before I said or did something to him- sometimes.

It was a joy to wipe that smile off his face after he was so certain he wouldn't need braces. Of course when I found out I teased him for it, because I could and he was already expecting it. But I'm more of a person to hit rather than tease so I guess that was part of why I didn't give him hell for it like he thought I would. But I do make a comment here and there. It's just like his asthma; Stan likes to pretend he doesn't have it. He's such a dumbass that doesn't learn from his mistakes.

Things got slightly better as the years went by. Something amazing did change between Stan and I though. It was just last year. My whiney little preteen brother had gotten courage to go to me, _me_ for advice. Me to confine in and no one else. It was last summer and was night. Mom and Dad had gone out to eat and I was stuck home alone with Stan. I was in my bedroom with my radio blaring loud to try and block on any noises Stan made. But he still found his way inside my doorframe.

"What do you want pest?" I asked when I noticed him.

He stood there looking like a deer in headlights. He bit his lip. "Um, Stelley?"

It had been a year since he got braces but his lisp was still there.

"What?"

"Um, can- can I come in?"

"No."

Stan's eyes darted to his side. "Please? It's important."

"_Fine_."

Stan had drawn in a deep breath. He really did look nervous. "Look, I have stomething I need to tell stomeone."

I chuckled. C'mon, you would have too.

"See, I can't tell Mom or Dad or Kyle- especially not Kyle."

"So?"

I could tell it was taking a lot out of him to come to me for anything.

"I have a problem, please, can you help me?"

"No."

"Please Shelley, I really need help but I- I don't know who to go to. You're my big sister, I should be able to go to you for advice," he said desperately.

I frowned but turned off my radio and patted to my side on the bed. "Fine, come here."

Stan sat next to me. He looked at his hands for a while. "You- you know what happened to Kyle's dog right?"

Kyle had gotten a dog for his twelfth birthday.

"Yes."

"You know he had to be taken to the vet after- after a car hit it right?"

"Yes."

"Poor Goldie- didn't see it coming… broke his back legs…" Stan said mournfully.

"Get to the point pest."

"No one saw what happened, but I- I know what really happened."

I raised a brow. "What?"

There were tears in his eyes now. "I can't say."

"You're wasting my time. Either tell me or don't."

"You have to promise me you won't tell Mom or Dad okay? Please."

"Depends."

"Damnit Shelley, just this once will you listen to me?" Stan spat.

"Alright, fine. Go on."

Stan drew in a deep breath. "Oh man, I'm going to be in so much trouble…"

"Just say it turd!" I resorted to my old nickname for him.

"You know Goldie had been missing for a week remember? Well, we found him last week. I said I saw him get hit by a car and the Broflov- Kyle and his parents came right over."

I smirked; ever since Stan got braces he has avoided saying Kyle's last name, which is difficult to pronounce even without metal in your mouth.

"He was in front of our house. It was him, he had his tag."

"Just tell me Stan!" I said impatiently.

Stan drew in another breath. "It was me."

"It was you what?"

"It was- me. I was the one who really hurt Goldie."

"What? How?"

Stan had tears in his eyes again. "That night, Mom and Dad were out. I was home alone. I wanted to- to test drive the car."

"You what?"

"Mom's car was in the garage, I wanted to, you know; see if I could drive it."

"What? What the hell makes you think you could? You're _thirteen_ you idiot."

"I know that! But I'm pretty good at driving; I've tried it plenty of times in the past. So I thought, well, I could do it with an actual car, on my own. Not drive it down the street, just- drive it down the driveway and park it back in the garage again."

This was too rich to hear so I allowed him to talk.

"I know I'm too short to drive yet but I still thought I could…"

I had a feeling where he was going at this point.

"So… I did it. I got in Mom's car, drove it back but then I hit something. I heard- I heard a cry. It was a dog- Goldie." Stan's eyes were really filling with tears now. He sniffed. "Shelley- I hit Goldie!"

He put his hands over his eyes. He's too sensitive for his own good, especially about animals. Really gets him in trouble. Do you know he once locked himself and his friends in his bedroom with baby cows when he was eight after he found out they were used for veal? Anyway, when he told me, I didn't know what to do. On one hand, it was such a great story and I wanted to tell Mom and Dad right away. On another… I felt bad for the kid. Really, I did. It was pathetic how upset he was about it.

"And now- now everyone thinks Goldie was hit by some random car! Because I lied and said he was. But it was me; _I_ was the one who hit him. I hurt an animal Shelley! I hurt an animal…" he wailed.

I still stayed silent.

"And there's no way I can tell Mom I tried to drive her car. I'll be grounded till my birthday! And Kyle… Kyle has no idea it was me. What do I do? I can't lie to him any longer, he's my best friend."

Finally I spoke. "Alright, first off, stop sniveling pest."

Stan sniffed and wiped away his tears.

"The first thing you need to do is tell Kyle the truth."

"What?"

"If he's your best friend he'll understand. Everyone knows you love animals; he'll know you didn't do it on purpose."

Stan bit his lip but nodded.

"Now about driving Mom's car… you're lucky there wasn't any damage to it first off."

Stan nodded.

"But I can understand the guilt you're feeling and you know what you were trying to do was _incredibly_ stupid."

"I know…"

I looked him up and down. "I won't tell her. Or Dad. You know Kyle won't and you can count on me that I'll cover it up."

"Really?"

"Promise I will never tell anyone what happened."

Stan let out a deep sigh. "Shelley, thank-you so much. You have no idea… I was afraid you might. You see I had to tell _someone_ and you were my only option."

"Only?"

"Well, yeah. Sort of like my only option as well as last resort."

I was a little hurt at this. "What do you mean 'last resort'?"

"Well you can't pretend you ever help me," Stan glared. "When was the last time I could rely on you without question?"

"You so _can_ rely on me you little brat. I'm your sister."

"You've spent every year of my life hating me, beating me up, teasing me, blaming me, being the _worst_ sister in fact." He was standing now.

My knuckles itched to hit him square in the face but I stopped myself. "I haven't done it _as_ much for a few years now."

Stan was still glaring. "No but it doesn't make up for the ten years of my life you did it without question."

"We've already been through this, what's done is done. I'm treating you better now. I even like having you around more."

Stan didn't believe a word of it.

I sighed. "Look, I won't be here much longer. Whether or not you're going to throw a party when I move out is your call. I just want you to know I _have_ changed and that you are my little brother, therefore I have to look out for you. You can…you can come to me for anything from now on okay?"

Stan raised a brow.

"I won't tell Mom or Dad anything you don't want them to know. Or your friends. Got it?"

Stan still looked a little unsure.

"It's my duty, a duty I haven't really played on in your life yet. But I'm willing to try."

He looked at me one final time before his face cracked. "Thanks Shelley." He went to give me a hug but I pushed him back.

"Do _not_ hug me pest."

He playfully socked me instead. I wanted to hit him back but I just pushed him out of my room and locked it.

That was last summer. And I kept my word. Stan told Kyle the truth. He was angry with him at first but quickly realized it was an accident and left it at that. I still haven't told our parents and I don't have plans on doing so. Stan has come to me a few more times since then with other little problems or worries. But for the most part I treat him better. I can't go a day without hitting him but that's as far as it goes. I _did_ want us to have a healthy relationship but that quickly fizzled out when he was born. When things happened with Stan I was always angry, jealous, annoyed with him even when most of those things were out of his control. And I've come to realize that. I can't blame Stan that he gets in trouble all the time; that he causes Mom and Dad to worry about him. Like I told you, he doesn't have a say in it most of the time. Sibling jealousy is old now, and I myself am growing out of it. He's a boy; he'll always be annoying and stupid and not learn from his mistakes no matter what happens to him. And that's fine as long as I keep thinking that.

It is now September and I am eighteen and off to the local collage. I figured it would be best to leave home as soon as I could, live with one of my few girl friends in an apartment, things like that. Her parents already settled everything for the both of us. I already know I want to open my own gym as soon as possible, get women in shape, teach them self defense. I'm just good at those sorts of things. But I also love photography; it's something I'll be studying. It had been a simple elective I took freshman year in high school that I quickly found I loved and was the perfect way to calm myself. My boyfriend Amir will be joining me at the same collage and is also taking photography with me. I guess you can say things are finally going to get better for the whole Marsh family. I will be free from Mom and Dad; as much as I love them, Dad's stupidity really gets to you over the years. And Mom and Dad can finally have at least four more years with Stan and only Stan. Something I know they always wanted at least slightly. They will only have to worry about one child now. I can give them that; they've changed over the years with me anyway.

So I am saying goodbye to Mom and Dad this morning and even bring a half-asleep Stan to my side before I leave.

"Can't remember the last time you did that," Stan yawns with a grin.

"Don't get used to it turd."

"Ready Shelley?" Amir asks by his parked car.

"Yeah."

I take one last look at Mom with her usual blue robe wrapped around, Dad with his cup of coffee and my little brother Stanley ruffling his messy black hair before I drive off with my boyfriend for the life that awaits us all.

_A little dramatic but oh well. I hope you enjoyed it. It was great to dig deeper into Shelley. I feel some of her anger could be because of the attention Stan receives; she does seem to be forgotten a lot of the time and it makes me sad. Please do review!_

_Magical love: Rose March 9, 2010_


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